


Once Upon a December

by HuntingHardyGirl



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon
Genre: Amnesia, Anastasia!AU, Banter, Dark Magic, Gen, Magic, Minor Character Deaths, Orphanage, amnesiac!Frank, conmen, conwomen, please don't report me for this, revolutions, this is all self indulgent yo, train crashes, violent former kitchen girl turned conwoman falls in love with an amnesiac prince more at eleven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuntingHardyGirl/pseuds/HuntingHardyGirl
Summary: Ten years after a revolution, Taylor Borelli comes up with the ultimate scheme: to find an actor who can pass as the lost heir to the Hardy Throne, and deliver him to the Grand Empress and Prince Joseph in an effort to collect the reward money being offered for the safe return of Prince Francis. Enter stage left: an orphan named Frank with amnesia, who has a startling likeness to the missing heir and the king, who is in search of his family with only one clue; a rather beautiful pendant that says "Together in Paris". What could go wrong?





	1. When the Curse is Spoken

If one didn't look too closely, it would have looked like a magical time period. But only if you were privileged enough to ignore all of the bad things underneath. For the noble class, as well as the royal family, everything was lavish parties, expensive clothes and food, plenty of vacations and getaways when responsibility seemed like too much. While the king, Fenton Hardy, seemed like a decent ruler when it came to politics, he had no real concern for the general public, and it showed, keeping his family reclusive almost on purpose and living their lives without a care in the world. He was more concerned with being a loving husband to his wife, Queen Laura, and a wonderful father to his children, Francis and Joseph, his heirs to the throne.

Francis and Joseph grew up wanting for nothing. They had the best education, the best clothes, several servants at their beck and call. Joseph even had a horde of puppies following him around like he was some kind of pack alpha, something he found great joy in, and he and his elder brother could play all they wanted within the palace walls, mapping out some hidden routes, chasing each other up and down the hallways and even sliding on the banister stairs.

As young as they were, they could almost believe they were invincible.

But it all came to a crashing end during one snowy December evening. The Hardy line was celebrating their longest reign within the family name, and holding a ball at the palace. Everyone of wealth and importance arrived, with plenty of food on hand, lots of music and dancing and even some games. As a result, barely any of the guests noticed the small kitchen girl who snuck out every once in a while, hiding within the shadows as she managed to get her fingers on a few treats and pastries, watching the crowd with wide eyes. Their jewels and costumes dazzled her, and she found herself yearning for some of that wealth for herself.

After some time, she found her way in the staircase near the thrones, just as the Empress, Marie, came to the party as well, taking her seat on the nearest throne to watch the party. Out on the dance floor, Francis and Joseph were laughing, having fun together, before Fenton lifted Francis in the air with a happy shout. He was getting tall for a ten year old, it was only a matter of time before Fenton couldn't lift him anymore. As soon as the brothers saw their grandmother, they ran for her, greeting her with a pair of hugs that made her laugh, and soon enough she pulled out what looked like a tiny little jewelry box. 

Edging closer, the girl eyed it, the golden color shining under the candlelight, and the green lid that seemed to be locked. After handing the brothers a pair of pendents, the Empress showed them how to use the pendents as keys to unlock the box, with proved to be a music box instead. Unable to hear the tune, the girl craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the music sounded like.

"Taylor!" A pair of arms grabbed her from behind, causing her to squeal before she was carried away. "Young lady, you belong in the kitchens!"

"But all I do is clean!" she whined. "I want to watch the party!"

"You're here to work, not dally around like a lump." As soon as they reached the kitchens, the butler set her back down, fixing her with a glare. "Now clean the trays. The cook needs help arranging the pastries, and you need to sweep up the flour so that no one trips." With that, he turned on his heel and headed back out, the swinging door almost clipping Taylor in the face.

Grumbling, the girl snatched the nearest broom and stomped around the kitchens, managing to sidestep and avoid the cooks as they bustled about, avoiding the other servants as they came back and forth with trays filled with food, and trays now devoid of anything. She could still hear the music of the party, playing louder briefly, as the doors swung open and shut, but after a while her curiosity could not be held back any longer. When everyone was distracted, she set the broom aside and snuck back out of the kitchen, taking an extra hallway or two to head back into the party, stopping at a balcony and resting her arms on the banister.

It was only a few minutes later that suddenly the party mood was killed.

The instant the front doors opened, a hush descended upon the entire room, a strong gust of wind almost blowing all of the candles out, as a robed tall man, thin and pale as a ghost, with black sunken and hungry eyes, sashayed into the ballroom as if he owned the place. He had some kind of vial around his waist, filled with a glowing green liquid that made Taylor's stomach drop, and she hunched down on her knees, watching between the bars of the banister as Fenton went down to confront the man. 

She knew who he was. Everyone did. The infamous Rasputin, who had managed to wiggle his way into the tighter circles of the royal family. He had been the King and Queen's confidant once upon a time, but when it was discovered that he was using these advantages for his own self satisfaction, he had been banished from the palace. How he got into the party was a mystery, there were guards everywhere, weren't there?

"You are not welcome here!" Fenton said angrily, as Laura hung back in worry, and the Empress held Francis and Joseph at bay. "Get out!"

"I would suggest you not dare to disrespect me, Your Majesty." Rasputin's tone was oily, but there was an edge of hard sarcasm hidden within. While he gave a slimy smile, his eyes were still cold, burning with hatred towards the monarch as he gave a small but clearly mocking bow. "The dark forces may turn against you at any moment. I may be your only hope in keeping you and your family safe."

"How dare you?" Fenton almost went nose to nose with the man. "You do not come into my home and threaten my family, you son of a bitch. I'll have you hanged for your treachery!"

"Hanged? Hanged?" Rasputin's eyes flashed again and he grabbed his vial, now glowing ever brighter. "For years I have been your confidant. I've done everything to do as you wished, to keep your family happy, and this is the repayment I receive? For your foolishness, I will see to it that you are finished! The Hardy line ends here. I will not rest until your bloodline is wiped from the face of the earth!"

With a sudden flash of green light, one of the chandeliers crashed to the ground, the chains above smoking and glowing with molten heat, as guests screamed and scattered to safety. Thankfully, the candles had blown out before it hit the floor, so there was no chance of a fire beginning, and in the confusion Rasputin fled from the palace, as Fenton roared to the guards to give chase. Laura hurried to the Empress and her sons, a few of the guards already taking them back from the party, and the guests were quietly dispersed, the mood almost somber as the wind whistled outside with a blizzard.

Taylor shivered slightly, gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles went white. 

Something bad was going to happen. She could feel it in her gut.


	2. The Walls Come Crashing Down

The Hardy reign came to an end by the end of the week. The displeasure of the people began to boil over, until a full on revolution broke out among the populous and the call for the crown rang through the streets like a battle cry. Statues were torn down, flags were burned and stores were broken into and looted. Guns were grabbed, knives and various other weapons were armed, and people took to the streets in a riot. And when they reached the palace by midnight, it was pandemonium, grabbing at the gates and screaming.

Francis and Joseph had been awoken by their grandmother. Her face was white as a sheet, wearing only simple but elegant clothing, a long coat wrapped around her. "Boys," she said as one of the servants ran around the room collecting their own coats and boots, "we must hurry. There is no time to dress. Put your coats on, we must go."

"Where are Mother and Father?" Francis asked, his instincts picking up on Marie's barely controlled panic.

"They have gone ahead," Marie said briskly, helping to pull Joe out of bed and hurry him into his coat. "The guards insisted. You and Joseph will come with me to Paris, until this whole mess calms down. It's our safest place, the people cannot force us to return if we are under protection there."

The boys did as they were told, bundling up in their coats, and shoving their feet into their boots, before being ushered out of the bedroom. They weren't given a chance to grab anything, not even a toy or a picture or a book. But they didn't try to complain, both of them sensing that something was terribly wrong. Outside the palace walls, they could hear the chaos, even hear some explosions as grenades were thrown over the gates, and the servants were rushing about trying to find escape routes.

It wasn't until they were nearing the ballroom when Joseph suddenly stopped, blue eyes wide. "The music box!" he cried. "It's in the playroom!"

"Joseph, we don't have time!" Marie said quickly.

"We can't leave it behind, Grandmama, it's too important!" With that, the nine year old darted off, weaving in between the mass of bodies rushing about.

"Joseph!" Francis rushed after his brother, with Marie close behind, quickly catching up with the boy in the playroom near the front of the palace. His fingers grabbed the music box off of a bookshelf, but as Marie hurried to shut the door there was another explosion, one that rocked the front of the building. Outside they could hear the cheers of the soldiers, and Marie felt her heart drop as she realized that the gates had finally been destroyed.

The chaos was coming. Whoever was alive within the walls would be shot. And that included the children.

"We have to go, _now_ ," she ordered, grabbing Joseph and Francis by their arms, but before she could move them, she saw movement just outside of her peripheral vision. She turned, fully prepared to fight to keep her grandsons safe, only to stare into the frenzied dark eyes of one of the kitchen girls. She was small, maybe Francis' age, her dark curly hair wild around her freckled face and her very simple clothing. But her eyes were blazing with determination.

For Taylor, this was maybe the most frightened she had ever been in her entire short life. The revolution had begun, the people were going to storm the palace, intent on murdering any royal family member they laid eyes on. It was only sheer luck that she had stumbled upon the Grand Empress and the princes, all three of them staring at her like they couldn't tell what was happening. Gunshots sounded from beyond the door and Taylor hurried, grabbing Marie's coat and dragging her back towards the wall.

"You'll never make it through the halls," she said. "The servants' tunnels, please, take them, this one will take you out towards the back maze, you have to run!"

Recognizing what the child was doing, Marie touched Taylor's cheek with a gentle hand, before hurrying into the tunnels, leading the brothers behind her. Something gold flashed, and Joseph gave a little cry. Responding to his brother's distress, Francis turned to face the girl again. "The music box," he started to say.

Taylor shoved him, hard, forcing him to continue moving. " _Go_!" she yelled, and he finally relented, rushing after his grandmother and brother into the darkness. 

Moving quickly, Taylor shoved the false wall back into place, before dragging a small dresser in front of it. Hopefully no one would look too closely at the wall, giving the trio time to escape, and she turned, heading for the door in an effort to make a run for it herself, only to scream and jump back when the door was forcefully shoved open with a loud bang. Two men in soldier uniforms stormed the room, rifles in their hands and rage in their eyes. They landed on Taylor, who backed away in fear.

"Where's the royal family?" one of the men ordered.

"I don't know!" Taylor shouted back.

"So help me God, you little brat--"

Reacting on instinct, Taylor seized a nearby lamp, heavy with silver and bejeweled along the base, and swung it hard. It managed to clip the first man in the wrist, causing him to howl in pain as she heard something snap. Before she could swing again, the second man moved faster, smacking her in the temple with the butt of his rifle, and Taylor hit the floor, dazed, as blood trickled from the wound and the men searched the closets before leaving the room. Underneath the rocking horse nearby, she caught a glimpse of that tiny gold and green box, and she reached out shakily for it. The box was cold against her fingers, but she pulled it to her chest, holding on tight and laying still as the revolution waged around her.

She never let go of it.

(*)

The palace was large, but the tunnels were mercifully short. Marie and the boys were able to escape near the maze at the back of the palace, just as the kitchen girl had told them it would. Taking Joseph and Francis by the hands, she all but ran across the grounds, grateful for the cover of darkness to hide them as they ran for their lives. A carriage would be waiting to take them as far into the city as possible, to reach the train station, Marie had their tickets, they just had to make it.

As they crossed under the bridge over the frozen pond, however, there was a mighty roar, and a body dropped from the bridge. Marie cried out as Francis was ripped from her grasp, turning and gasping in horror when she saw Rasputin clinging to the ten year old's ankles as the ice cracked underneath his body from the force of his jump. "Let him go!" she yelled as Joseph started to scream.

"I will see the end of your bloodline!" Rasputin cried gleefully as Francis struggled to free himself. "If it's the last thing I'll do, I'll see you dead!"

"I'll see you dead first!" Francis yelled. With that said, he slammed his foot as hard as he could into Rasputin's face. There was a snap as the man's head was thrust backwards, just as the ice cracked further. Grabbing his chance, Francis pulled free from Rasputin's grip, grabbing Marie's hand as the trio ran once more into the darkness, and Rasputin fell underneath the icy waters.

(*)

The carriage ride to the train station was a bit chaotic, but they made it without anyone realizing they had escaped. Unfortunately, as Marie and the brothers hurried to the station itself, they heard the train's whistle, the engine rumbling as the machine started going down the tracks.

"No!" Marie gasped. "We have to make it, we have to!"

She ran then, the boys right on her heels, and one of the loyalists caught sight of them from the caboose. He reached out, grabbing Marie's hand and helping to pull her onto the caboose's platform, only for her to turn and watch in horror as the train started picking up speed, Francis and Joseph struggling to catch up. She held her own hands out, desperate to catch them. "Hurry children!"

"Grandmama!" Joseph cried, reaching out for her.

Francis glanced at his brother, coming to a decision in a split second, before he grabbed Joseph around the waist and hauled him up as he ran, practically throwing the nine year old onto the caboose with their grandmother. Thankfully, Joseph was caught and helped up, before Marie reached out, just barely grabbing Francis' fingers. But the train was only going faster, and there was only so much adrenaline left in the young prince as he clutched at Marie, his grey eyes wide with fear.

"Hold tight to my hand!" Marie ordered, tears in her eyes. "Please, Francis, don't let go! Run a little faster, I'll pull you up!"

"I can't!" Francis wheezed.

"Don't let go!" Marie said.

"Francis!" Joseph cried.

Too caught up in trying to survive, Francis didn't realize he was getting too close to the edge of the platform. His foot missed a step and he gave a shout of fear, falling right over the side, his fingers slipping from Marie's. The Grand Empress screamed, and Joseph had to be held back from jumping off the caboose in his distress, as the tightly packed crowd quickly covered Francis from view, the train only going faster, until it left the station completely.

The last thing Francis saw was Joseph and Marie's white faces, before his head smacked into the train tracks and everything went dark.


	3. Since the Revolution

Things could change a lot in a decade.

The night of the revolution, it was discovered that King Fenton and Queen Laura had been captured by the top soldiers leading the rebellion. They had been killed, executed without mercy. Various other members of the royal family around the country had also been captured and killed. Those who hadn't been killed only escaped by the skin of their teeth, including Grand Empress Marie, and Prince Joseph, who fled to Paris, and thus where they have stayed ever since. The royal crown had been toppled over, and the communist party had begun. Russia was no longer ruled by royal blood, but it wasn't like things got any better with new leadership. There were spies everywhere, of course.

But that didn't stop some people from talking.

Heels clicking against the stone pavement, a woman was walking amongst the town. Some of the workers in the shadier market were trying to sell some luxury looking items, and as she passed along a newspaper stand, she paused. There, on the front page, was an incredibly old picture of Prince Francis, frozen forever at ten years old, with the title "Reward Offered" right above the image. It was something that was circulated only a few times since the revolution, as the young heir to the throne had gone missing that night while trying to flee the country with Marie. No one knew where he went, no one knew if he was dead or alive. But the promise of all that money that Empress Marie was offering...

A soft snort, and then the woman continued on her way. Keeping clear of some of the guards patrolling the road, she took a few back alleys, making an effort to hide her face in case any of them noticed her. As she passed the back of a bar, she knocked on the door three times, and within a few moments, a head popped out. The young man grinned at her once they made eye contact. "You're early, Borelli."

"Keep your voice down," Taylor warned. "Do you want the guards on our asses?"

"Such language does not fit such a pretty face." Angus chuckled, leaving the bar and shutting the door behind him, before allowing Taylor to loop her arm with his and leading her through the shady market. "What have you got?"

"Flyers have been strategically placed," Taylor confirmed. "The playhouse has been rented for tonight."

"And you're certain this will work?" Angus looked down at her, his nearly black eyes seeming to pierce right into her soul.

She rolled her own in response. "Do you doubt me?"

"Only your plans."

"Rude. I've yet to steer you wrong."

"Oh please." Angus bumped her hip with his. "You're one of the slipperiest conwomen in Russia. All of your plans steer me wrong."

"Comrades!" One of the men trying to sell his wares intercepted the two, holding out a rather beautiful looking fleece coat. The fur was still soft, almost brand new, and the velvet underside was a bright wonderful red. "See this coat? It's beautiful no? I got this from the old palace, it's lined with real fur!"

"Is that right?" Angus asked, releasing Taylor as she inspected the coat in question.

The merchant gave a little laugh. "Well, not directly from the palace. But it's from one of my contacts. He saved it from the night of the revolution." He wiggled his eyebrows. "It's rumored to have belonged to the Lost Prince. Something he would have grown into, perhaps? Poor soul."

"Watch yourself," Taylor murmured, glancing up at the man before handing him some money for the coat. "Eyes and ears everywhere, comrade."

He flushed a little, but accepted the money and gave her the coat. "Ah, yes. Yes, madam, of course. Enjoy the coat, please, with my compliments."

As soon as they had gone far enough out of earshot, Angus eyed the coat Taylor had draped over her arm. It certainly looked expensive, and it would have cost a fortune if it had really belonged to someone in the royal family. "Is it real?"

"Of course it's real," Taylor said dismissively. "Why would I take it if it wasn't real?"

"Well if it truly belongs to the Lost Prince..."

"He isn't using it now is he?" She stuck her tongue out at him, before turning the corner into their little hideaway, opening the door and bouncing in. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out the snow that had fallen into it, before hurrying up the stairs, heels clacking every step of the way.

"So about this plan of yours," Angus said, following after her.

"What about it?"

"You really honestly truly think it's going to work?"

Taylor paused from where she had been rooting through drawers to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Angus, my old friend, of course it will work. This is the biggest con job in all of history, as of this very moment. If we pull this off, then we have an amazing chance at getting whatever we want. Two million rubles, Angus. Two million!" She grinned then, turning her attention back to the drawers. "We find a guy, at least twenty years old, no older, no younger. Dark hair, light eyes, angular facial structure. Teach him how to walk and talk and act like a royal, and that money is as good as ours."

Angus sighed a little, leaning against the door frame. "I suppose."

"Don't doubt me. It's a beautiful plan. And when we bring out this..." She pulled out a small golden circular box, decorated in green and as shiny and untouched as the day it first made it's appearance, "then the Empress will have to believe it!"

"Taylor..."

"It's the rumor, the legend, the mystery!" Taylor turned to the window dramatically, staring out over the city, at the bustling crowds and the guards, the various flags whipping around in the cold wind. The snow was a blinding white, the weather brutally cold, but for the moment she could feel the warmth of a tropical breeze, the sun on her skin and she could almost taste all the wonderful food she could get her hands on. The clothes, the jewels, anything she wanted. It was so within reach. "It's the lost prince Francis Hardy who will help us fly!"

She turned back to Angus, grinning. "You and I, Angus, we'll go down in history for this."

Angus stared back at her almost impassively. But he had to admit, her excitement was almost contagious, even if he had misgivings about it. Their usual con-jobs hadn't had so much weight behind them, with so many consequences waiting for them if they failed. If the Grand Empress realized that she had been tricked, if Prince Joseph realized that his brother was still missing... The emotional stress would almost be too much for them.

But the idea of two million rubles...

"What if we don't find the right guy?" Angus asked instead. "Russia is huge, Taylor. There's no guarantee that we find someone who looks as closely to what Prince Francis could look like now. If we wanna convince Empress Marie and Prince Joseph that we've found the heir to the throne, then we really need to find someone who has a strong resemblance to the royal family in general."

"And we will," Taylor said, as if that was the final straw. "I know that we will. You have to have some faith, Angus."

"Who has faith in a time like this?" Angus muttered as Taylor scurried past him, the little golden box being slipped into her pocket.


	4. One Step at a Time

Far beyond the bustling city, in the rural country, Lena Sokolov was exiting the orphanage where she worked. A woman far beyond her prime, she was already in a foul mood, and seeing all of the thick, freshly fallen snow on the ground, it only made her mood worse. Giving out a barking cough, she grabbed a broom and used it to begin sweeping a path from the front door to the gate well ahead.

"I got you a job as an apprentice with the butcher," she said. "You'll have room and board there, earn your keep like the rest of us. Follow the road until you find the crossroad, and then you head left." She paused then, turning around to fix a glare. "Are you listening to me, Frank?"

The young man man who had been following her turned away from the building, as the children he had been waving to from the windows quickly ducked away in an effort to avoid the woman's hard gaze. He was tall, and quite handsome for his age, his black hair pulled back in a small ponytail, grey eyes alight with amusement. "I'm listening Comrade Sokolov," Frank said, smirking at her. 

"Wipe that look off your face," Lena demanded, continuing to sweep a path to the gate. "You act as though I didn't go out of my way to care for you. Brought here acting like you were the King of Sheba, without even knowing who the hell you are. For a decade, I have fed you, I have bathed you--"

"You kept a roof over my head," Frank continued, as the lecture was far too familiar now after so many years. "Yeah, I know. I was there."

"And good for you, that I was willing to take you in!"

"Comrade, you run an orphanage," Frank said, his tone slightly mocking. "Why run an orphanage taking care of orphans if you don't like kids?"

Lena whirled around to face him, raising her hand and wagging her finger in his face. "I don't mind kids, it's your attitude I have an issue with, boy! Hell, out of the goodness of my heart, I kept you after you turned eighteen. I kept you here for two more years, so long as you help with the extra children. If we still had room, I'd still keep you. But it's time for you to run your own life, and to get out of my hair, so to the butcher's you go!"

"But why the butcher's?" Frank asked. "I could go to the city, I could find my family."

" _What_ family?" Lena demanded. "Oh, wait, I forgot--" Reaching towards his neck, she grabbed the golden chain, tugging on it until the small little pendant he wore came into view. It was beautiful, obviously handmade and expensive, and the writing hadn't even faded from where he always seemed to rub his thumb against it over the past decade. "Together in Paris," she read, her voice oily and sweet. "You want to go to France and find your family there. If you even have one at all."

Frank's cheeks flushed faintly, and he yanked the pendant back from her grip. "Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean I have to be disillusioned. They're out there, I know they are."

"How would you know?" Lena asked. "You have no memories of your early childhood. You don't even have a last name!" She turned to open the gate then, the metal screeching in protest thanks to the cold, and she gave Frank a little shove past them. "It's time to put that childish dream behind you, boy. Now go, act your age. Get a job. Live off the land. I don't care, you're not my responsibility anymore." With that said, she turned and headed back towards the doors of the orphanage, leaving Frank standing there in the snow for a few moments before he turned and walked away.

His irritation at Lena was what kept him warm during most of the walk. His long coat was clearly second hand, maybe third or even fourth hand, ratty and old and ripped in places he didn't like. The only thing he had that was semi new was the scarf around his neck, dark green and a bit course against his skin, clearly wool, but it did help with the warmth, so he didn't have anything to complain about. But by the time he reached the crossroads, he was so irritated that he didn't even want to go to the butcher's. It would mean giving up, before he could even think about finding his family.

But at the same time... What if Lena was right? What if Frank didn't have a family after all? Normally if a child was missing, the family could at least hope to find their child in an orphanage right? And no one had come for Frank. Not one person.

Staring up at the signs at the crossroad, Frank heaved a sigh, the cold air hitting his lungs in all of the wrong places, before he pulled the pendant out again. It almost glowed under the sunlight, the gold glinting prettily against the snowy background. _Together in Paris_.

"I can't be alone," he muttered to himself. "They have to be out there somewhere. It's the only thing that makes sense."

And yet he still hesitated, looking down the road that would take him to the small village where the butcher shop was located. It sounded...safer. To be given a job right off the bat. His own room, not having to share with a dozen younger boys, not have to argue about when lights out really meant lights out. Not having to worry about the next meal being nothing but oatmeal for days, unless he truly could not afford anything better. At the village, he would even have a chance at maybe finding some nice girl and settling down. Set some roots, forget these little daydreams.

Before Frank could come to a decision, a little black and white blur rushed up the path, racing around him so fast that little flecks of snow were being kicked up into the air. Startled, Frank turned, his scarf coming loose, and the little blur -- a small dog -- grabbed hold of it with his fangs, giving a happy little growl.

"Hey!" Grabbing the other end of the scarf, Frank tried to pull it from the dog's mouth, only to slip on some ice and hit the ground with a thud. Taking his chance, the puppy darted down the other path a few yards before pausing, looking back at Frank expectantly, who scowled as he managed to push himself back into a sitting position. "Give that to me, you little turd, that's mine!"

The dog growled, but it wasn't an aggressive noise. It was an invitation to play, if his wagging tail meant anything. Now that Frank was actively looking at the dog, he could tell he was young, barely out of puppyhood. A shih tzu, and a brindle one at that, his coat a healthy and even attractive mix of black, white and brown. His big brown eyes were locked excitedly on Frank, like he had finally found a playmate, and he gave the scarf a wicked shake with his head.

"Look little guy, I don't have time to play," Frank said, getting carefully back to his feet and reaching out for the scarf. The dog only bounded forward another couple of yards, and Frank looked after him in frustration. "I'm trying to come to a decision that could majorly effect my life and you wanna play tug of war with the only nice piece of clothing I have to my name?"

The dog spat the scarf out, only to bark a few times, lowering the upper half of his body so that his butt was in the air, tail wagging.

At that moment, a large gust of wind pushed forward, hitting Frank from behind and forcing him to move forward a few feet. But...the wind felt warm, and he looked up, finding that he was now standing on the path that was leading him to the city. He blinked then, slowly coming to the realization that if the universe could give a sign, then this was a pretty big one. The dog, maybe, but the wind?

"...Alright," he said, bending over to grab his scarf back and wrapping it around his neck again. "I can take a hint." He looked down at the dog, who stared up at him. "You coming too, turd?"

The dog barked.

"I probably shouldn't call you that huh?"

Another bark.

"...How do you like the name Nelson?"

If a dog could look a bit disgruntled, then this shih tzu was maybe the most expressive dog Frank had ever seen. He laughed, reaching out to give the dog a good scratch behind his ears, the fur soft against his fingers. "Well you're stuck with it now Nelson. Come on boy, let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

The journey to the city took almost all day. The road led them through a winding forest, but with the sun finally coming out they had plenty of light to guide their way. Frank saw some of the animals coming out of hibernation, and when they came upon an old cabin, a couple of children had run out to play with Nelson. Frank allowed it for at least an hour, as the childrens' parents came out to talk to him. When he explained his intentions of getting to the city, the mother even packed him a small sack of food, with a little bit of money to help him out, and when he tried to refuse it, she insisted. Touched, he finally accepted it, with his many thanks, before heading off again, calling Nelson back to his side, who quickly ran after him to catch up.

"That's what I'm looking for," Frank said after a while, looking down at the dog as he offered a piece of a sandwich. Nelson gobbled it up, looking up at Frank expectantly as he continued. "I was an orphan for a good portion of my life. And maybe I'm still an orphan. But this pendant is my clue to who my family is. Or where they might be. And when I find them, I can finally feel complete again. But don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold."

Nelson licked at his fingers reassuringly, his tail wagging as Frank broke off some more pieces of his sandwich to share with him. At least Frank wasn't going on alone.

Eventually, as the afternoon sun was slowly beginning to descend from the sky, they broke out of the trees to find the city. The view was beautiful, almost breath taking. Frank stared at it, feeling his heart starting to beat faster, and he reached up to touch the pedant again, the metal cold against his skin. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at Nelson. "We'll go to the station, see if we can't afford a ticket to Paris."

Nelson wagged his tail, and Frank leaned over to pick the dog up. He was so small, he didn't want to lose him in the crowd in case anyone thought the dog was still a stray. Feeling a bit assured, and a bit more confident, Frank hit the road and hurried down the hill to the city.

He was going to find his family. He had to.


	5. Dancing Bears, Painted Wings

Taylor had had a lot of brilliant plans before, and many of them had been able to come to life with a high success rate. But this one, Angus was beginning to think, was finally being the one to stump her. Ever since they reached the playhouse, she had been riding high on her own brilliance, and now, hours later, after the sun had gone down and the temperature outside had dropped, after well over two hundred men of varying ages and appearances had waltzed across that stage in hopes of passing as their actor, Taylor was looking frazzled and frustrated to Hell.

After the last guy stormed off the stage after being rejected, Taylor slammed her head down onto the table with an almost painful noise. "This is ridiculous! None of them look like the king, none of them look like royalty in the least!" Turning her head, her cheek was pressed into one of the papers as she gave Angus an almost pitiful look. "Please tell me there's at least a few more."

"Uh..." Angus looked over the extensive list. "Nope. Sorry, we're all out for the night."

"Ugh!" Taylor hit her head on the table a few more times, before running her fingers through her hair for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Her normally curly locks looked frizzy and messy, as if she head stepped out during a particularly humid day. "This is a fucking nightmare."

"Maybe it's a sign from the universe," Angus suggested lightly.

"Yeah, a sign that I need to work harder." She made a farting noise with her mouth before pushing herself up to her feet, grabbing the papers and rolling them up impatiently. "But not tonight. It's late, I'm starving, and I wanna sleep in my own bed. Come on, let's get home."

(*)

The city was much larger than Frank had anticipated, and it took until sundown for him to even find the train station. Holding Nelson close so that the dog wouldn't get spooked and try to run off, he waited around for a few minutes before he found a ticket counter window that didn't have a line in it, and he scurried over. The man behind the counter bars was large, and...rather intimidating looking, fixing Frank with a deep glare.

"Uh," Frank said, feeling a bit cowed for a moment, "how much would it cost to get a ticket to Paris?"

The man looked him up and down for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "Depends. Are you going one way, or are you returning?"

"One way," Frank replied.

"I'll need to see your exit visa then."

Frank blinked in surprise. "Exit visa? I don't have an exit visa."

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No exit visa, no ticket kid. Beat it."

Frank opened his mouth, prepared to argue, but then he decided it wasn't worth it and backed up, fuming a bit. Who even had warned him that he would need an exit visa just to leave the country? It was absurd. If he wasn't coming back it wasn't as if they needed to keep tabs on him.

Nelson suddenly whined, and when Frank looked down towards the dog, he found himself face to face with an old woman. "You're trying to get to Paris?" she asked, her voice low enough to be a whisper.

"Yes...?" Frank said. "Do you have any advice?"

She nodded. "Go find Taylor Borelli. She's a slippery one, she can get you an exit visa and a ticket, if she has any on her person right away. You can find her at the old palace." Then the woman held a finger to her lips. "But you didn't hear that from me!"

Frank's eyes widened. While he knew that trusting a stranger blindly could lead to trouble later on, something in him was telling him the woman was speaking the truth. Whoever this Taylor Borelli was, if she was able, then she could be his one hope of getting out of here without wasting much time. And it wasn't like he had any options, did he? A single orphan with amnesia and no last time, barely any work experience... He would need all the help he could get.

"Can you tell me where to find the palace?"

(*)

Even with the directions the old woman provided him, it still took Frank a good two hours to find the palace. He got lost during some of the winding roads, and when he finally came upon the property, the first thing he saw was the old rusted, busted out gate, and the road path that lead up to the front doors of a beautiful palace, though much of it seemed to be in disrepair, with the windows boarded up and even an old "Keep Out" sign nearby.

For a few seconds, as Frank stared up the building, he felt like...he could almost envision it in his mind. How it must have looked in it's prime, all clean and beautifully built. It was like his vision doubled, with one side showing him the palace as how it looked right now, comparing it to the image in his mind, and he winced as a sharp pain rushed through his skull, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple. Within a moment or two, the feeling faded away, leaving a faint throb behind his eyes, and he looked up in time to watch Nelson pelting himself across the snowy yard.

"Nelson!" Alarmed, Frank ran after the dog, not even caring that he technically trespassing, following the shih tzu up to the side porch and watching as he wriggled his way under some boards in an old window. The glass panes were missing, leaving it vulnerable to the cold, and peeking in through the boards only showed a room that was incredibly damaged from the weather. "Nelson, get back here!"

The dog barked, and Frank sighed, grabbing the damp boards and giving a harsh tug. They came loose surprisingly quickly, almost sending him flying, but he kept his composure and hesitantly climbed in after the dog. As Nelson was pawing at the door, Frank was able to nudge it open, and they wanted into a hallway that smelled strongly of must. The building must have been abandoned a long time ago.

Wandering the dimly light hallways, he eventually found his way to an old room with a few tables covered in fine china. As Nelson darted underneath the table cloth, Frank picked up one of the plates, rubbing his coat sleeve against the china to get the dust off, coughing a bit from the cloud that erupted from it. "Jesus," he said, voice a bit strained. "This place needs a good cleaning, Nelson."

Nelson just sneezed from somewhere under the table, so Frank took it as agreement. Setting the plate back down, he wandered over to a large mirror, once again mostly covered in dust, ad he looked down at a decorative piece on the table beneath it. It was rather beautiful, white with painted bear figures in costumes dancing along the lid. Sliding his finger over one of the figures, he felt that sharp pain in his head again, and he rubbed his eyes. Feeling a nudge at his ankle, Frank looked down to find Nelson staring up at him, those big brown eyes almost worried.

"This place feels so familiar," he admitted. "I have no idea why. It's like...something out of a dream." He looked up at the decorative piece again. "A dream I've had before but I can't remember all of the details..."

Nelson whined a little before trotting away, and Frank followed after him, only to find themselves in an old ballroom. It was large and spacious, with stain glassed windows painting scenes of beautifully dressed people dancing together. Finding himself rather entranced by the sight, Frank slowly moved down the stairs, staring up at the windows, trying to imagine what kind of party this ballroom could have held so many years ago. If he let his mind drift enough, he could almost hear the faint music--

"Hey!"

Startled by the voice abruptly yanking him back to the present time period, Frank looked up to the opposite balcony, finding a woman staring down at him with something akin to frustration and irritation. "How did you get in here?" she yelled at him.

The woman didn't look like the type to be able to kill him, but Frank didn't want to stick around to find out. He ran back up the stairs he had just come down from, and he could hear the woman behind him giving pursuit. Nelson, having heard the commotion from elsewhere, came running from another area of the ballroom, barking up a storm, and he almost tripped Frank by running right in front of him, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt right underneath one of the giant oil paintings by running into the wall as he tried to dodge.

Not his best moment.

As he was righting himself, the woman showed up halfway down the stairs, breathing a bit heavily as she glared up at him. He had to admit, she was rather pretty, her dark hair half pulled back to reveal her youthful freckled face and fiery dark eyes. And she looked to be around his own age, if he was guessing correctly. And yet, as soon as she really laid eyes on him, she seemed to pull back a bit, some of the glare softening into something more like confusion.

"Okay," Frank said. "Look, I'm sorry, I just... I'm looking for Taylor Borelli. Someone said to come to the palace. Is that you?"

For Taylor, she was a little gobsmacked. The guy she had found wandering the ballroom was... Fuck, she couldn't quite describe it. He was pretty, sure, but it was the fact that he was currently standing underneath an old portrait of King Fenton that she was noticing the striking similarities: the black hair, the intense grey eyes, the angular face... Even his body type seemed eerily similar to the king's, though the guy in front of her was a bit skinny, and judging from his clothes, incredibly poor. Standing by his feet, a little shih tzu growled at her in warning, but she paid the dog no mind.

"Uh," she said as she heard Angus hurrying into the ballroom behind her. "Yeah, that's me."

Frank's face brightened a little. "Really? Please don't be pulling my leg, I've been travelling all day, I'm very tired."

"I mean," Taylor said, "it really depends on who's asking. But you don't look like the police."

"Holy shit," Angus muttered as soon as he reached her side and took a good look at the stranger. "That's... wow..."

Moving upwards, Taylor reached the stranger and started walking around him eyeing him up and down, something he didn't seem to like. "Why are you circling me like some kind of vulture?" he asked, drawing his ratty looking coat a bit tighter around himself. 

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry." Taylor flashed a charming smile then, hoping to help lower his guard. "It's just... You bear an awfully striking resemblance to the late king, Fenton Hardy." She gestured to the painting, watching as his eyes darted up to look at it. "I was a bit caught off guard, sorry about that. Now, uh, you were looking for me? What for, can I ask? And what's your name?"

"...I need a ticket to Paris," he said, "and an exit visa. My name is Frank."

"Got a last name there, Frank?"

"...No." His cheeks flushed pink. "It's a long story, but to make it short, I can't remember my last name. I have long term amnesia."

Oh this was slowly becoming too perfect. "Is that right?"

"Yeah. Around a decade ago I was found wandering one of the back roads near the woods, and I was taken to an orphanage. No one came to claim me, and now that I'm out, I'm trying to find my family." He sighed a little. "And my only clue is Paris, so I need to get there, as soon as I can. Someone said you could help. Can you?"

"...Gosh, I would love to," Taylor said, pouring as much sincerity into her words as she could, even fixing up her expression to be sympathetic. "My friend Angus and I, we actually have three tickets for Paris. Unfortunately the third is already spoken for."

Frank's face fell a little. "Oh."

"Yeah. See, there's this prince," she went on, "and he's been missing for a long time. A decade in fact." She moved closer then, looping her arm with his and moving him to the side, following another smaller set of stairs to another portrait, with Angus following close behind and the dog on their heels.

"Yes," Angus said, who seemed to catch onto what Taylor was planning. "We're going to reunite Prince Francis with his grandmother and brother. You know... You do have a good resemblance to him."

"What?" Frank asked, looking baffled.

"You have the same eyes as King Fenton," Angus said.

"The infamous Hardy eyes," Taylor piped up.

"The strong chin of Fenton as well," Angus added.

"Your facial structure is very similar to Queen Laura's," Taylor pointed out. "By now, Francis would be the same age, the same physical type--"

"Whoa!" Frank cut in. "Wait a second. You can't honestly believe that I could be this...this Prince Francis, do you?"

"All I'm saying," Taylor replied a bit haughtily, "is that I have seen hundreds of guys our age, and not one of them have looked as close to the lost prince as you do. I mean, look at the portrait!" The trio stopped in front of another large painting, this time of the royal Hardy family just months before the revolution. Taylor could remember the family sitting for it, with Fenton in his uniform, the crown on his head, with Laura sitting on the chair in front of him, her own tiara glinting against her blond hair, her expression serene, and the brothers standing on either side of her.

There was a pause, and then Frank snorted out a laugh. "Oh my god, you're fucking nuts," he said, pulling free from her grip and stepping away. 

"Why?" Taylor asked slyly. "You don't remember what happened to you--"

"And no one knows what happened to him," Angus added. "You are looking for your family, in Paris."

"And Prince Francis' only family is in Paris," Taylor said. "Did you ever think about the possibility?"

There was a pause, as Frank looked between the two, and then slowly raised his eyes to look at the portrait. Dressed in their best, the Hardys looked...regal. Divine, and powerful. "...I don't know," he admitted. "It's hard to think of yourself as a prince when you're sleeping in a mothball scented bed with thin blankets and moldy damp walls, but sure... I guess every little kid wants to imagine themselves as long lost royalty."

"And somewhere, one little kid is," Angus said, smiling.

At that point, Taylor knew she had Frank somewhat hooked. Now all she had to do was reel him in. Grabbing Angus' arm, she pulled him away next, giving Frank a sympathetic smile again. "I really wish I could help you," she said. "Truly. But the ticket we have is for Prince Francis. I'm sorry. But I wish you all the luck." With that, she pulled on Angus until he started walking away with her, leaving Frank to stare up at the portrait again.

"What are you doing?" Angus whispered as soon as they rounded the corner. "We could have let him into the plan, he's practically perfect!"

"Yeah, and?" Taylor retorted quietly. "All he wants is to get to Paris, one way or another. Why split the reward money three ways if we don't have to? Besides, I'm rewriting the plan right now, and we almost have him. Just walk a little slower, eh?"

Angus sighed, but slowed his walk to match her speed, and before they even reached halfway down the stairs, Taylor held up her fingers and counted down. "Three...two...one..." Then she gestured into the air, just as Frank's voice rang out, calling her name.

They both turned then as Frank darted back into view, with the dog close behind. "If I don't remember who I am, then who's to say I'm not this Duke or Prince, or whatever the hell he is, right?" he asked, his voice coming out rapid fire as he headed down the stairs after them.

"Uh huh," Taylor replied, smirking slightly.

"And if I'm not Prince Francis, then the Empress and the other prince would just know right then and there, and it can all be just an honest mistake," Frank added.

"Sure, sounds plausible," Taylor agreed.

"But," Angus cut in, "if you are Prince Francis, then you'll have found your family. And you'll finally know who you really are!"

"He's right," Taylor said, grinning now as Frank reached them. "Either way, it's a win-win situation for you because you get to go to Paris."

"Right!" Frank said, offering a smile in return, and wow, fuck, he had dimples. Why was that cute?

 _No, focus,_ she told herself, before holding out her hand. "Alright then, put 'er there!"

Frank reached out, grasping her hand to shake it, but then he winced when she gripped a little too hard. "Ow, fuck. Do you always try to break someone's fingers when you're shaking their hand?"

"Oh come on now, don't be a wimp," Taylor shot back, releasing him. Hearing a snort, she looked down to find the shih tzu staring up at her. "What do we do with the dog?"

Frank frowned. "He's mine. His name is Nelson, and he's coming with me."

Angus looked amused. "Cute! I like dogs!"

It took every ounce of self control for Taylor not to groan. Instead, she forced another smile. "Great... Come on Frank, let's find you a bed in the old servant's quarters. First thing tomorrow, we go to Paris!"

Her plan was finally coming to fruition.

**Author's Note:**

> I thirst for comments.


End file.
